Whimper Fibreaux Myzalgo Was Angry About His Name

The pain just sent me a telegram.  It is on its way back home.  It will be here soon, in full force.  And it's going to be sticking around.  

When I get to the hospital they need to meet the undisguised me, the one with the pain.  Lately it has been so severe that when I wake up I don't know anything about anything, except that there is this pain (which makes me holler, even scream, and which will not go away, and which is so severe I can not change position at all).  It takes about two minutes for me to understand where I am, who I am and what is happening.  It takes at least ten to make it out of prone.  Yep, that's the guy the hospital needs to meet.  The one in hell.

Now I have to edit this mess here... nah, maybe later.  

Oops.  One of my opinions escaped again.  Very dangerous, for me.  I believe in peace, love and understanding.  Now is just not a good time to be into it.  Because the longer the people who watch the people who care believe we are copacetic with the way things are then the more difficult it will be to cast off the chains that have been placed around our socioeconomic freedoms. Because we need the people who pay attention to what we do, more than anything.  And by that I mean all the peaceful people who are happy enough and think things are good enough.

The post that follows could be called chapter one of a larger project, although no such plan was ever made. Also, it would be stupid to do so. That would effectively relegate perfectly good meta-punk spec-fi to the heinous Symbols "To Do List." 

How heinous is the To-Do List? A photoset of a blossoming, freshly famous 19 y/o model was promised the readers; some demanded the "Dox of Never Ending Death" as retribution.  By the time the search of Symbols Prime found the model she was a grizzly old hag covered in open sores.  Little flecks of noxious pus oozed from her abscessed teeth, and escaped from between her slack lips to plummet the short distance to her nicotine stained pullover with a tiny yet distinctive plop.

Such horrors do not happen due to a conscious effort on my part. The To Do List, in the absence of authority and responsibility, comes to represent those things, which magnetically draw to them the deepest contempt and most intense loathing extent in my subconscious mind.  The artistic endeavors on the list really get a bad rap out of this deal.  So no list and no promises.

Promises are really more to blame for some of the horrible things that have happened over the years than hatred of authority (and the voodoo plot to jettison every responsibility of all time from a thumper over the Gulf of Freaky-Bad Shit in that dimension peopled by emetophiliacs). 

Details of the promises' curse at work here:  A promise may not actually have been broken for this author to take the blame for having done so; sums up the quagmire nicely.  How is that possible?  Information that would absolve of broken promises never makes it to readers (or listeners).  The reason for such a disconnect is almost always absence of Internet.  In the world of stable artists and musicians (I have been told they exist), the Internet never gets cut off.  The reason release schedules are not adhered to summarily gets reported to site visitors, and everything is hunky peachy dorey terrific.  Smoke signals do not work as an Internet substitute, even if it is one big damn hookah.

Get Bent is be-da-fuq-hind schedule.  Intend to make serious effort to get desktop into hospital room rather than sit there watching minutes of life disappear forever (do not like that idea, running out of those).  Composing takes a lot more concentration than writing or it would be going on now.  Neither would be even remotely possible except for one thing. Pain: killed, deader'n hell, again

The people wgaf enough about expanding their minds and enjoyment levels to stop through here matter a great deal.  There ain't no way to give you all lollipops.  Actually, fuck candy and drugs and everything else that does not make dollars and cents.  If there was a way for me to make it happen you'd stop by Symbols one day and receive a certificate (to be printed out on 20 lb. cotton vellum) that would land you all jobs where you fucking deserve to be working for the pay you deserve to be making.

We all know that sort of real human compassion just isn't possible in this world.  Why?  The people who already have very nearly all the money and very nearly all the land believe that they are better than not only damn near every adult alive today, but will continue to be better than every adult who comes into existence in the future.  Because of that belief they are willing to do everything necessary to prevent people like you from having a chance to chip even the tiniest sliver of wealth and power from the mountain of it they have.  

Since every one of these people could be gathered together in our university's football stadium, and the place would look lonely and deserted, they are pretty uptight.  Looking at the number of people involved it does not seem like it would take very much time and effort to fire every single one of the .56% (a much more honest number).  Don't believe those people have not thought about that.  They live in fear of you and I (we, the fucking pissed off people) dismissing them from their jobs as masters of the universe or emissaries of the dollar god, or whatever the fuck they think their jobs actually are (besides calculating how much their ridiculously unnecessary income has increased since the last time they deigned to check it).

And how could we do it?
How could we fire them?

There's that opinion ^.  (Uhhh, the embed did not work initially).  Told you it was dangerous, for me.  The idea of conducting massive scale socioeconomic reform through a campaign of not-freaking-peaceful-at-all is nothing new.  Dedicating to it in the Western world is a deadly affair.  It's a young person's fight.  Think the fantasy and walls of sound are better for the doddering. And I so wanted to watch large portions of the capitalist world go up in flames for a failure of the owner's club to make high quality life possible.

But that passionate desire does not help.  The cost of the fires would just be passed on to us.  The only people who would be hurt are the people the whole thing would have been about helping in the first place. It sucks that true intellectuals don't get to believe that violence will solve problems, almost as much as the fact that violence can't solve them.

I'll catch you kids on the flipside. With a new spine it should be no problem to write some mind bending lore that can be read with wtf-core playing in the background.

Note:  This place needs more [deleted], that awesome place where oranges grow the size of cojones but taste the size of watermelons.  It's magical!
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Related written works at Angelfire, Sex Symbols, Cymbals of Silence.Repent or Die